Escape to Alaska: Denali is the Finale

We went looking for a mountain.

It sounds a bit odd to say we were hunting for a mountain when the mountain in question is Denali, officially known (according to Congress) as Mount McKinley, the tallest mountain on the North American continent and possibly the most impressive upthrust of rock and snow on the entire planet.

But Denali can be difficult to spot. Blame it on the weather.

The bus driver who takes you into Denali National Park tells you that you have only a 30% chance of seeing the mountain. When Denali does make one of its much coveted appearances, people speak of it as if referring to a shy person or a hermit who has emerged from a cave. "The mountain is out today," they say. The rest of the time? The mountain is not out; it is shrouded in clouds.

There wasn't much suspense involved in our trip into the park. Given that we had had slashing rains during the night, we were pretty sure that clouds still had the upper hand from the mountain's 20,320-foot peak to nearly its base. So we did what all other tourists on the bus did; we concentrated on spotting wildlife.

We saw moose, bears, caribou, and a fox. Unlike most of the others aboard the bus, I didn't rush to the window and stick my camera out and press the shutter release. I could see the animals clearly, all right, but it wasn't a photoworthy moment unless one had a giant telephoto lens. I just relaxed. I enjoyed the ride.

It was an 8-hour round-trip over the dirt road.

 We stopped every hour or so to use the park facilities and snap a few more photos.

An aptly named "braided river"...

The variegated colors of Polychrome Pass

Our driver, Joe, provided lots of interesting commentary about the history of the park and the features of the rocks, plants, and animals.

Did you know that an arctic squirrel hibernates but that brown bears don't? The latter are actually in a trance-like state in which they don't eat or eliminate waste, but they can be aroused awake during the winter. Winter hikers beware!

Did you know that due to climate change the boreal forest is moving north? With warmer temperatures, plants and trees are able to live at higher elevations and latitudes than before. Recent photographs of the park compared with those from nearly a hundred years ago show forests in places that were barren before.

Did you know that Mt. McKinley was named after Senator William McKinley not President McKinley? That a goldminer with ties to the Eastern newspaper establishment named the mountain to call attention to the senator from Ohio who (happily from the miner's point of view) supported a gold standard for the nation's currency base rather than a silver standard. The senator went on to become president.

Or did you know that one Alaskan town wanted to name itself after the state bird, but residents had trouble spelling P-t-a-r-m-i-g-a-n, so they became Chicken, Alaska.

Interesting stuff, but I still wished my wife and son could see the mountain the way I'd experienced it as a young man. Back then, five friends and I rode all the way to the end of the park road, got out, and camped in the shadow of Denali. And it was "out."  In fact, it looked just like the photo in the souvenir booklet that Joe the driver distributed to us at the end of the day.

As I looked at that photo I realized that the mountain was like a lot of things in life. It has to be there all the time even when it's not registering on the senses.

Like joy. A gloomy day comes along and one wonders was I ever happy a single time in my life?

Like love. When you're alone you wonder have I ever had a friend in this world? Has anyone ever really appreciated me?

Or the transcendent. If the world is making no sense it's easy to start to think there's never been a glimpse of some kind of presence behind this reality, some larger thing that actually cares that humanity and I are doing our best (or worst) to survive another orbit around the sun on this little rock we call planet earth.

But then I remember: I glimpsed it once. It was there. It was enormous and real. And even if I never see it again, it's still there, just the other side of the obscuring clouds.

When I believe that, it's a lot easier to move on through the curtains of rain. To appreciate the other, smaller things the sun illuminates when it finally breaks through the overcast.  To say that as long as today is today, this will be enough. - V.W.

Escape to Alaska: A Tale of Two Fish Cities

Fishing boats lined up in front of the processing plant.

Every summer the salmon return from the ocean to find the original streams in which they were born years earlier.

It's one of the largely unexplained mysteries of nature. After so many years of maturing in salt water, how do the fish make the change to fresh water and get all the way home? How do they survive the mishaps and predators along their route? How do they keep from getting caught by the innovations of humans, including hooks, traps, and nets?

Most of them don't. It's  been estimated that for every 25 million salmon eggs that are laid, only two fish arrive home to complete the cycle and spawn in the stream beds.

Yet the salmon keep on coming. By the thousands. Every summer.

We took a stroll along the docks of a cannery that my brother-in-law worked in decades ago when he was an 18-year-old looking for his first good paying job.

This was back when Alaskan salmon marketed to the word was in 16 oz and 8 oz tin cans. You should know that canned salmon is to fresh salmon what canned tomatoes are to fresh tomatoes. Yes, you can eat it, but it's hardly memorable. But canned salmon was all technology would allow at that point.

Gary showed us where a congregation of young and old, male and female, Filipinos, Alaska Natives, and whites worked in those summers long ago. The work was wet and filthy, especially near the so-called "Iron Chink" which was a machine that sliced off the fish heads and tales. Guts and slime abounded.

Wash it all down the drain...

It so happened that Gary had one of the best jobs, towards the end of the assembly line. He was charged with using a machine to tip the sealed cans into their cases.  The box of cans then went to the gluing machine. He held the record at one time for processing 750 cases in an hour.

Today the cannery is closed, but someone has purchased the buildings and attempted to turn it into a restaurant and tourist attraction. Signs explain the original purpose of each building. Unfortunately, when we arrived it appeared that this money-making repurposing of the old cannery was not a going concern. Nothing appeared to have been opened in a while. We stared through windows into empty buildings.

Next door the processing of salmon went on in a more modern fashion. The new plant takes the salmon and flash freezes the whole fish. In this form the salmon is much more valuable than in its humble canned form. It's a delicacy that can be brought to the table at the restaurant and served at a premium price.

I have to admit that it's hard for me to contemplate going back to purchasing a can of salmon and forming it into a fried salmon croquette (my mom's favorite recipe). This defunct salmon cannery seems quaint. But still I can appreciate what this place represents: lives bumping together for a few months in the summer, all in the name of industry and a paycheck. Something important happened here and I can still feel it. - V.W.

.

Escape to Alaska: Another Way of Life

Living in Alaska means lots of things.

For example, paying some of the highest gasoline prices in the country even though the state is the nation's largest domestic producer of oil.

It also means having a very cool license plate issued in 2009. That was the year that Alaska celebrated 50 years of statehood.

In Alaska you never live very far from nature and the splendor of the earth, largely uninterrupted by the intrusions of humans. Like  the friends we visited in Homer, Alaska who have this for a view from their living room up on the hillside.

When you live so close to nature you're drawn to be in the midst of it. My brother-in-law took us mountain biking on a trail that was less than a mile from his front porch.

Alaskans like to take advantage of the long growing hours provided by the Midnight Sun and plant some edibles in their back yards. A tall fence is necessary to keep out the rabbits--and any moose that come by, eager for a munch. In addition, a green house helps the plants that need more heat. Until one gets into the Interior, the hottest summer day is mild. Around 70 F. degrees.

Cabbage or spinach, anyone?

The real bounty of Alaska isn't on the land, but in the ocean and rivers.

My nephew took out a boatload of relatives and they fished Kachemak Bay. They came back with fresh halibut, a delicious white fish that can grow to upwards of 300 lbs.

They filleted the fish, cut the rest into steaks, and less than an hour later we were eating it. By then it was 9 p.m. It's a fact that Alaskans tend to eat late in the summer. Why not? With the sun so high in the sky there's little reason to start to think about going to bed until you look at your watch and say, "Oh my, is it really getting on toward midnight?" - V.W.

Escape to Alaska: Wild About Wildflowers

There's an old saying about the northern way of life:

In Alaska there are two seasons. Winter and getting ready for winter...

It's true Alaska's growing season is brief, but everything green makes the most of it.


And the midnight sun means that things are growing almost 24/7.

This explains some of the sights that follow.

A common thing to come across alongside the road or in a field is LOL = lots of lupine...

Even the dandelions here are HUGE and belong to an order of beauty and wonder that makes a person ashamed to call them a "weed."

 

- V.W.

.

Escape to Alaska: The Town Where Salmon is King

Soldotna, Alaska. On the Kenai River. This little town bustles and hums in the summer as the RVs, trailers, accompanied by hardware-encumbered tourists, roll in. They're intent on catching red salmon and, the monster of the river, a king salmon.

It's an industry.

f

Translation: On Friday it will be legal to fish
the Kenai River using salmon eggs on a hook.

But that's not why we're here. My wife's brother lives in Soldotna. It's been three years since we've gotten together. He's going to catch us up on the Alaska we've been missing.

So let's slip into the rhythm of the north...

Around 6 a.m. I wake up to clear skies. The sun has been up longer, I suppose. Whatever the case, all the light shining through the crack in the curtains is significant. After a long dark winter, Alaskans crave as many bright, warm summer days as they can get. I know. I lived in this state for 25 years. A dismal summer day with clouds and drizzle was the ultimate downer. But that's not what we have today.

Backyard view Alaska-style...

I  get dressed, pull on my shoes, and go for a run. I'm liking what I feel. For the first time in months the air is friendly. I'm not breaking out in a sweat.

Then it's time to go to breakfast at a local cafe.

Our son orders the Spruce Tree. It's one of a host of gimmicky named entrees directed at the tourist crowd. Nevertheless, this culinary item turns out pretty nice...

That's French toast with bacon to form the trunk...

On the way out the cafe a friendly malemute sticks his head out the side of an SUV and howls a bit for us.

The wild, intriguing face of Alaska.

The day is turning out quite nice. Ahead of us are a visit to the mouth of the Kenai River, some wild flower photography, a walk through an old salmon cannery, and a dish of delectable rhubarb cobbler topped with whipped cream.

After that it will be evening and the sun will be almost as high as if it's still early afternoon.  Who knows how late we may stay up, talking, soaking up every solar morsel of the midnight sun? That's what Alaskans do, and whether in Rome or Soldotna it doesn't hurt to follow the crowd. We can always sleep once we get back home. Wherever that is. - V.W.

.

Escape to Alaska: Photos Day One

The ending of my last post was a bit misleading. I didn't suddenly say to myself, "I can't take this heat anymore" and decide to leave.

The tickets for our trip to Alaska were purchased months ago. I just didn't know that at this juncture in life how necesary it would be to point ourselves toward the Far North.

The daily onslaught of high temperatures has been killing us. Packing our bags it feels less like we are going on a two-week vacation than like we're prisoners busting out of a hot house jail.

Our plane takes off, bringing an immediate sense of relief. It's already like falling into a northern dream and we're not even there yet.

Between the fourth and fifth hour of a seven-hour flight I look out the window.

"I think that's Canada," someone in the row behind me says.

They say you can never get a good picture out an airplane window, but I snap another one anyway.

Everything is so large, white, amazing. Just what I want to see. Then, for a while, nothing but cloud cover. Until there comes a parting.

The rest of the way it's all mountains and glaciers.

We land in Anchorage. It's 7:30 p.m., the sun is shining, and it's nearly 50 F. degrees cooler than back home. The sun will not set until sometime after midnight.

We load up in an SUV and start driving south. We're headed to the Kenai Peninsula, the land of salmon. - V.W.

.

Road Report: I Slept With Frank Lloyd Wright

We were on our way home and we needed one night's lodging.
I had to pick a town and a place to stay.

Hmm, what might prove interesting?

There had been 26 people at our family reunion back in Branson, Missouri, but it was my brother who saw me with my head in the road atlas and made the best suggestion.

"Did you know there's a hotel in the Price Tower in Bartlesville, Oklahoma?"

The Price Tower!

Back Story
Settle yourself into a time machine for just a minute. We're headed to the 1950s.

It's just before the arrival of Buddy Holly and Elvis. Your name is Harold C. Price Sr. and you live in a smallish city in northeast corner of Oklahoma where you own an oil pipeline company and are sitting on personal fortune. In a state where oil has made a few men almost overnight millionaires, you're practically rolling in greenbacks. So what are you going to do with your new-found wealth?

You decide to ask America's most famous living architect to design your home. And why stop there? You ask him to design a high-rise building for your pipeline company as well.

The architect steps in and does the work in his usual fashion. Singular. Memorable. With control of detail right down to designing the carpets, stair rails, grates over the heating vents, and the ceiling lights.

Lobby ceiling with quote from Whitman on the wall.



The aging architect (right)
looking over plans with client Harold Price.



It's all of a piece.

It all goes together.

It bears his inimitable stamp.

This is a building by

Frank

Lloyd

Wright.





Of Trees and Buildings That Scrape the Sky
The Price Tower opened in 1956. Seventeen thousand people lined up over three days for tours. No one had seen anything like it. After all, America had slipped into the age of the smooth sided, unornamented glass tower where symmetry and sleekness were the thing. Everyone was talking about the new U.N. building.

The new architectural champion: straight lines and glass.
Exemplified by NYC's United Nations building.

The Price Tower went against the current architectural grain. There were no right angles. Equilateral triangles abounded, even in the shape of the light covers installed in the ceilings. Copper, which was chemically treated to give it an instant green patina, was everywhere.

The building wasn't about a solid structure to which ornamentation had been applied. No, like a mountain or a sunset, the building itself was the object that entranced the eye.



Another version of "trees" rising from the urban forest,
Antoni Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain.

In the end, the Price Tower was the only skyscraper designed by Wright that would ever be constructed. Like Antoni Gaudi who went lavish and wild with his organically inspired Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona (begun in 1882 and still under construction), Wright thought a building should echo the wonders of nature.

He called the Price Tower "the tree that escaped the crowded forest."

Some thought Wright meant by this that his American skyscraper, whose normal domain ought to be in places like New York City and Chicago, had "escaped" to the humble plains of Oklahoma.

The "escaped" tree thus could be said to now rise pristinely, free of the concrete shadows of its less inspired concrete and steel cousins.

More likely Wright meant exactly what he said. He had set out to design a building that drew its inspiration from a literal tree.

Giant Sequoia Tree
by John Tayson (1978)
watercolor

The Price Tower had floors that "branched" off a central trunk (which held the elevators). And all that deliberately greened copper? It wasn't just an aesthetic whim. Trees have leaves and leaves are green.

In Wright's "tree" people would live and work in in the heart of downtown. They would no longer be divorced from the glories of nature. Their very abode would remind them of the earth.

It is in this very unlikely place with its unlikely building that years later someone came along and turned 21 rooms on the upper floors into one of America's most remarkable hotels.

The Price is Right
Check into the Inn at Price Tower and a friendly gentleman with a stylish beard introduces himself as Art. He asks your names (even the childrens'), shakes everyone's hands, and shows you that the museum and gift shop are right behind the registration desk.

There's great stuff in the museum. The desks and chairs designed by Wright look as if they'd be at home on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. Really out there!

But let's face it. What you're most anxious to do is hit the up button on the very weirdly shaped elevator (a tight fit if you have a couple of suitcases with you) and get up to 12th floor, run the card key, and open your room.

Wow.

The interiors have been designed by Wendy Evans Joseph. Everything is custom-made: the beds, wardrobes, the desk. The carpet and drapes have been designed and woven for the room. Even the triangular, copper trashcan that exactly fits behind the desk leg and weighs about ten pounds is a one-of-a-kind.

Custom desk

Custom chair

Ms. Joseph has taken Wright's tree idea along with a sense of the clean and the spare and translated it through a Japanese bamboo forest filter. There's lots of copper, too, angled like bamboo stalks.

It's all open, large and inviting.

Even Higher
It isn't bedtime yet, so we head to the 15th floor and the Copper Bar.

Hmm. Let's peruse the menus...

The special house drink is the Coppertini.

Coppertini Recipe:

ketel one, amaretto disaronno, grand marnier

My wife has the Caribbean Kiss. I have a chardonnay.

Checking Out
The next morning we took our breakfast on the 16th floor terrace. Muffins and pastries came to us, warm out of the oven. Eggs and sausage, too. And make your own waffles. I forged a relationship with a machine that dispensed either coffee or a decent facsimile of espresso.

The Inn at Price Tower was making it all that more difficult for us to say good-bye. But my son and I still had a few more photos to take.

Our son (age 13) has for some time said that he wants to be an architect when he grows up. I realize, of course, that often other gifts emerge in a person as they mature. I mainly hope he finds a vocation that pleases and satisfies him. Still, I would love for there to be an architect in our family.

A piece of music goes mute once the instruments are put down. A novel only dimly echoes in the mind when the covers are closed. But a building seems to me as close to a living thing as a human artist can construct. It's there 24/7, inviting us in to wander through its spaces, gaze through its portals, perhaps even to lie down and take our rest.

A good building continues to breathe and persist and return to us at dawn. I suppose that's why it seems to be in our nature as a species to keep putting up walls and stacking stones into monuments. May another genius come along to raise us some more. - V.W.

.